


Treat Yo'Self

by d0g-bless (d0gbless)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Banter, Canon Universe, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mud Masks, Pidge roasts Lance, Showers, Snark, Spa Treatments, Spoilers for season 2 trailer, Team Bonding, Use your imagination, because I can't write endings for shit, klance, mention of Shiro, yes the title is referencing that Parks and Rec episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0gbless/pseuds/d0g-bless
Summary: “What might this ‘relaxation day’ include? I’m giving you a 140-character limit.”Lance lit up, his features glowing like the eyes of the Lions when the Castle’s lights dimmed. “Pidge, my dear, dear girl, I am glad you asked. I’m thinking the whole package: facials, mud masks and cucumbers, nails, massages, bubble baths, hot tubs or maybe even a Jacuzzi—““So this little Sabbath you’re suggesting is really a spa day.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoodlyDoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoodlyDoo/gifts).



> A request from DoodlyDoo, the wonderful friend who got me into Voltron before she had even seen it.

“OK, so, Pidge—“

“No.” The tiny gearhead didn’t even hesitate to shoot down Lance’s offer for whatever it was. Pidge was too focused on doing whatever she was doing to the Green Lion. Probably adding some really cool features, like heat-seeking missiles. More ice and fire. Why couldn’t Pidge add something like that to Blue? Especially with Blue being the coolest Lion with the coolest Paladin.

Lance whined. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

Pidge wiped the glistening sweat off her brow, smearing what looked like oil across her forehead. “I didn’t need to. You had that tone in your voice.”

“If this—“ he wildly gestured towards all of Pidge. “—isn’t proof we should have some sort of relaxation day, I don’t know what is.”

Tossing her head, Pidge huffed. Was he trying to offend her? Since Lance didn’t get the hint to shut up and leave her alone, she humored him. “What might this ‘relaxation day’ include? I’m giving you a 140-character limit.”

Lance lit up, his features glowing like the eyes of the Lions when the Castle’s lights dimmed. “Pidge, my dear, dear girl, I am glad you asked. I’m thinking the whole package: facials, mud masks and cucumbers, nails, massages, bubble baths, hot tubs or maybe even a Jacuzzi—“

“So this little Sabbath you’re suggesting is really a spa day.”

Lance nodded eagerly. “I mean, if you’d want to call it that, sure. Yeah.”

“I’ll stick to the showers, thank you very much.”

An offended gasp slipped out of Lance’s mouth. “Out of everyone here, I was sure you wouldn’t turn me down. I mean, you being a girl and all.”

Ever since she “came out,” Lance suddenly thought she was interested in more feminine activities. Katie Holt might have been more inclined to spa days, but Pidge Gunderson had bigger, better things to do. “I don’t know what makes you think me being a girl would make me any more interested in spa days than you are. I’m still the communication specialist you first met at the Garrison. Have you tried asking anyone else?”

“Yeah, everyone’s turned me down. Allura slapped me for suggesting bubble baths for two—although I never stated who the two would be, Coran was too busy trying to pinpoint where the Galra took Shiro, and Hunk’s too busy cooking dinner.”

“I think you’re missing a key member of the team.”

“Yeah, Shiro.”

“ _Another_ key member.”

“Nah, that’s everyone.”

“Lance.” Pidge was no Shiro, but the fatherly (motherly?) tone she used was equally effective as Shiro’s. “You need to get over whatever your issue is with Keith. If anyone could use a spa day, I think it’s him. He’s on the training deck. Get your ass over there.”

“Don’t use that sort of language with me, young lady.”

Pidge rolled her eyes—at this rate, she was probably going to need some sort of corrective eye surgery. And not for her already pristine vision. More for ensuring her eyes didn’t roll into the back of her head and stay there. “You’re not Shiro. And no, I am not putting any of the stuff I found in that trash nebula in the swear jar. Dad isn’t here.”

“What, you have a daddy kink?”

Pidge turned beet red. “Don’t be disgusting.” Yeah, she had a crush on him, but who didn’t? Everyone on this fucking ship loved Shiro in some way or another. Hers was just a bit more romantic in nature. But she wasn’t going to act on her feelings. Maybe one day, but not now or any time in the foreseeable future.

Like Pidge, the rest of the team was professional enough to set their feelings aside. Well, maybe not _that_ professional—after all, those emotions were what led them to hunting Shiro down. After nearly getting themselves killed after rescuing Allura, the team was not prepared to take on another fleet. Worse yet, Zarkon anticipated Voltron to attack another fleet head-on after being separated. But they needed Shiro back.

“Lance, I will drag you there myself. I might be smaller than you, but I am perfectly capable of doing it.” She dug her bayard out of a deep side pocket in her cargo shorts. “You’ve gotten a taste of what this can do. And I could make it an entire meal if you’d like.”

Lance laughed nervously and then fled out of the lab.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Pidge turned back to face Green. “Now, if you’d open your mouth, please.”

The giant beast did as its Paladin requested, earning her a pat on the nose from a tiny hand.

“Atta girl.”

* * *

Keith charged at the Gladiator, refusing to yield no matter how many times its staff made contact with him. It was reckless, but he’d always been reckless when he fought. It was that recklessness that cost him his future at the Garrison. That nearly cost him his life when he took Zarkon head on—against Coran’s orders.

_“You fight like a Galra soldier.”_

The Gladiator struck a blow to one of his knees and then the other, forcing him to land on his ass. It didn’t sting as much as it would in an actual fight—Keith had been sure to lower its attack power. The last thing his team needed was the Black Lion’s pilot out because of a training injury.

_“Keith, if I don’t make it—“_

That was an important distinction. Black’s pilot. Not Black’s Paladin. Keith was the Red Paladin, bonded to the Red Lion. Not bonded to Black—or Kuroko, as he would sometimes hear Shiro softly call her.

_“I want you to lead Voltron.”_

The Gladiator hovered over Keith, staff raised for the knockout blow. It wouldn’t be hard enough to actually knock him out cold, but it would definitely be a throbbing pain. Shiro would have told the Gladiator to yield at this point.

But Keith wasn’t Shiro.

He closed his eyes and waited for the final strike to land.

It never did.

“Gladiator, yield!”

Keith felt the floor beneath him angle slightly, meaning the Gladiator had returned to its resting state. Although he knew who cut the training session short, Keith cracked open an eye. The last thing he wanted to do was make eye contact with Lance. Of all people to see him like this, of course it’d be Lance. Go figure. _Give me a break._

“Hey, looks like you need—“ Keith prayed Lance wasn’t going to do what he thought he was going to do. But evidence was piling up with Lance’s outstretched limb and open palm. “—a hand?”

Groaning at the stupid joke, Keith shoved the offered hand away and eased himself up onto his feet. “I’m fine.” He made the mistake of making eye contact with Lance. For once, there wasn’t any sign of humor or stupidity twinkling in his blue eyes. Instead, shadows of doubt and concern swirled behind them.

“You just had your ass handed to you by the Gladiator. You, of all people. I’m used to that happening on a regular basis. I’m not saying it happens to you regularly, I mean you _were_ the best fighter pilot in our program before I entered and took your spot.”

Keith shook his head, sprinkling drops of sweat onto the floor. He wasn’t going to have this conversation—especially not with Lance. “Why are you here? And no, please do not start with the story of how you found Blue. I was there. We were all there.”

Lance deflated, his ego rushing out like the air of a balloon. But there was still enough left for him to puff out his chest and declare, “We are having a relaxation day. Right here, right now.”

Before Keith could ask about more specific details or reject the offer, Lance held a finger to Keith’s lips. “Don’t say a word. I insist.”

Keith was fixated on Lance’s long-legged stride out of the room. Each and every step Lance took oozed self-confidence that Keith could only dream of exuding. Why then, did Shiro tell him to lead Voltron? Not that Keith didn’t have confidence in his abilities when it came to piloting Red—and for now, Black.

But when it came to teamwork, bringing the team together to form Voltron? Lance excelled at that. Keith knew Lance was homesick—and Lance knew that’s how Hunk and Pidge felt, too. They missed their families. And Lance was good at understanding feelings, especially those regarding families—something Keith never really had to deal with.

There’d been so many nights when Keith hear quiet sobs from the thin walls of Pidge’s room. (Red and Green’s quarters were next to one another. As the arms of Voltron, they were expected to stay close together. Same with Yellow and Blue as the legs.) Then he’d hear Shiro knock and ask for permission to enter her room. When she gave some sort of affirmative response (confirmed by the smooth rolling up of the door), Shiro would speak so softly to her. Keith couldn’t even hear him. Keith only knew Shiro was talking because she’d only cry louder and thank him for whatever words of wisdom he shared with her.

Now that Shiro was a Galran prisoner once more, that was Lance’s role. Just last night he’d heard Lance telling Pidge a stupid joke. The joke didn’t make her laugh. Judging by the crashing sound and some pained whimper from Lance, she’d thrown something at him. Then they both started laughing.

“Enough with that long face, Keith. I mean, unless you think girls like guys with wrinkles.”

Keith practically leapt into a fighting stance at the sound of Lance’s voice—he didn’t think Lance was actually going to come back. And especially not with sealed packs of some green liquid.

“What’s with the food goo refills?” Keith asked.

Lance held a hand to his heart, as if he’d been stabbed with Keith’s ornamental knife. “Food goo? Food goo? Keith, you wound me. Can’t you tell what this is?” He wiggled the bag in front of Keith’s face.

“Food goo refills.”

Lance heaved a sigh. “Keith, this is mud from the bottom of a planet that actually had water. Like, crystal clear Earthling safe drinking water. I borrowed Hunk’s Geiger-counter—“

“Stole.”

“Stole, borrowed, to-may-to, to-mah-to.” Lance paused abruptly. He was used to Shiro lecturing him and the other Paladins about certain “moral standards” after saying something like that. Since Keith had nothing more to add, he continued. “Anyways, I made sure that the elemental make-up was the same as dirt on Earth. Then I added water.”

Keith squinted at the mixture. “So why is it green?”

“The water was fresh from that planet—and by fresh, I mean it came right out of a spring. No water treatment plants there, so…”

Great. So there was probably some sort of alien waste or byproduct in there. “Lovely,” Keith said through a pinched nose.

Upon seeing the disgusted expression growing on Keith’s face, Lance was sure to add that with the Geiger-counter and some help from Hunk, it was completely safe. “I might not like you, but I don’t want to kill you. Not anymore, anyways.”

“Wow. That is really comforting, Lance.”

“I know it is!” Somehow Lance completely missed the sarcasm in Keith’s snide remark. “Could you cut one of these things open with your bayard? Allura claims that Alteans were millenniums ahead in technological advances, but they don’t even have scissors. Can you imagine? How do they cut hair! Knit! Do arts and crafts!”

Keith was sorely tempted to ask Lance why he couldn’t just use his own, then realized that using a laser gun to cut open what looked like a food goo refill bag would end in a disaster (and a lecture from Coran reminding the Paladins he was not their maid). Keith did as Lance requested. By the time he’d sliced the bag open, Lance had already made himself comfortable on the floor. Keith slumped down next to him. “So, how exactly is this supposed to be relaxing?”

“I dunno,” he said, rubbing in mud on his face. “It just is. There’s something about treating yourself once in a while that’s relaxing. Self-care, you know?”

 _Self-care?_ Yeah, that wasn’t exactly an option after the Garrison had expelled him. No family—the closest family he had was deemed dead in the depths of space— no other living relatives, no foster parents. Just him. When he found himself drawn out to the shack, the closest thing he to treating himself was finding a dead hare that hadn’t been touched by mountain lions or coyotes. A full meal. Clean water for more than one day. Survival was the closest thing he had to self-care.

“I don’t know, actually.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended. Keith waited for Lance to tease him or snap back at him.

But Lance didn’t. “Oh.” That was all he said—and Keith wished Lance had said something stupid or rude. “Well, I am going to fix that,” Lance declared, slapping a muddy hand on Keith’s cheek. (And leaving a green handprint behind.) “Let the relaxation day commence! Since you’ve never done something like this, I’ll do it for you. Less stress that way.”

With the back of his hand, Keith rubbed the spot where Lance had smacked him. Great, now his gloves were nasty, too. “I’m not stressed, Lance.”

“That’s not what the bags under your eyes say. You’re almost as bad as Pidge,” Lance countered, slathering Keith’s face in mud. “She’s not getting enough sleep—and neither are you, from the looks of it. And—“ Lance sniffed the air. “God, you reek!”

“Obviously.” Keith tossed his head proudly, the action ruffling his hair—save for his stupid, disgusting mullet, which was practically glued to the back of his neck. Some of the mud mask splattered onto the ground—and on Lance’s sneakers. “Exercise tends to make me—and everyone else—sweat.”

Now it was Lance’s turn to be horrified. “I take that back—you’re worse than Pidge. Neither of you sleep or shower—“

“I _do_ shower.”

“Prove it.” Lance, of course, made it sound like a challenge. “Tell me the last time you actually showered.”

“That’s easy. It was—“ Shit. When was the last time he’d showered? “It’s hard to say, given the fact that we don’t exactly measure time in the same way Coran and Allura do. I can’t pinpoint it down to say, last Wednesday. And as you should know as the fighter pilot who took my spot at the Garrison, time measurements in space vary. Some planets’ years are shorter than a day on Earth.”

A brow inched its way up Lance’s forehead—an unmistakable signal of doubt. “No wonder you’re so quiet. You couldn’t tell a lie to save your life.”

“Guess Shiro instilled that in me. He was like a brother to me, you know?”

Was. Lance shuddered. “Keith, don’t say ‘was.’ Shiro is probably alive—not alive _and_ well, but alive.”

“I have to prepare for a worst-case scenario, Lance,” Keith snapped. “Let’s be real: the Galra won’t allow their famous Champion to escape their cells a second time. And how do you think they’d prevent that?”

Lance’s face pinched in concentration. He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut—probably had to rethink whatever dumb thing he was going to say. “Well, I’d assume tight security. And by tight security, we’re talking the top of Zarkon’s posse.”

“You really think they’d let him live? Risk letting Shiro injure or kill his best fighters? Lance, he’s better off dead to them.”

“No.” Lance shook his head. “No, no, no. Shiro’s alive. He’s waiting for us to save him.”

It took all of Keith’s self-control to stop himself from grabbing Lance’s shoulders to shake some sense into him. “Lance, he asked me to lead the team. If he doesn’t make it, he wants me to lead Voltron.” The mud mask had long since dried on the boys’ faces. Lance’s was completely dry and starting to crack. But not Keith’s. Wet streams of tears streaked down the mask, leaving behind a dark trail. It almost looked like war paint. “Why me? Why did he ask me, of all people? Why not Allura? Someone who’s actually good at leading.”

This wasn’t the time to laugh, but Lance couldn’t help himself. He vomited up giggles and snorts. And they just wouldn’t stop. Within a few seconds, Lance’s own mud mask mirrored Keith’s.

“I don’t know why I’m even talking to you about this,” Keith growled. He started to shove himself up and tear the mask off, but a cackling, crying Lance grabbed his arm.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, slipping off his jacket. “I’ve asked myself that same question when the Garrison had me take your spot. Why me?” Lance dabbed away tears—staining his jacket in the process. He closed an eye and spoke in the voice of an irritable man. “McClain, you took the place of our best fighter pilot who dropped out. Can’t you be more like Keith? Keith could do this, that, everything.”

Well, that was definitely one of the better Iverson imitations Keith had seen in his life. Maybe the best—not that he’d tell Lance that.

“Keith, Keith, Keith,” Lance spat. His hands curled up into fists. A white knuckled-grip. “Iverson always reminded me that I was never going to be as good as you. And he was right. You’re actually a pretty good fighter pilot. And me? I was the Garrison’s best cargo pilot. Better than you were as a fighter pilot. But my grades weren’t exactly up to par. Somehow you’re slightly more intelligent than me.”

As always, Lance had to make himself sound better than Keith. Part of Keith was relieved at this; but he was also concerned. His voice dropped a few decibels. “You’re wrong.” Keith could barely hear himself say those words—and was surprised he even did. Clearing his throat, he continued. “You’re a better team member. You know how to make Pidge laugh and help Hunk through an anxiety attack. And Coran really loves having you around. Me? I don’t fit in. I don’t belong here.”

Lance made an ugly sound mixed between a cough, a choke, and an indignant snort. “If you didn’t belong here, then why did I invite you to do mud masks with me?”

“To make fun of me,” Keith said dryly. “Like you always do—ouch!”

Tawny brown hands (that for some reason always made Keith think of the desert sand surrounding his quaint cabin home on Earth) peeled off Keith’s mask. A smug grin crossed over Lance’s face—as did what Keith could’ve sworn was a rosy blush. “I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t care about you.”

“Rip the mud mask off my face?” Keith retorted, rubbing his hands over his (surprisingly) smoother face. “That hurt.” As much as that did hurt, it felt good knowing that someone—even if it was Lance—did care.

“No, tease you. And that hurt? Aren’t you the moron who was willing to let the Gladiator beat his ass sideways?” A mischievous twinkle glinted in Lance’s eyes. “Kinky.”

Keith managed a disgusted noise—but not before ripping the mud mask from Lance’s face.

Lance yowled like a wildcat in heat. (A sound Keith was more familiar with than anyone wanted to know.) “Okay, on second thought, I think I’d prefer the Gladiator than that.”

“I can definitely arrange that.”

“Oh, you are on, pretty boy!” Lance leapt up into a defensive stance.

Keith arched a brow and cocked his head to the side. “Pretty boy? Was that a compliment or an insult?”

Red spots flared on Lance’s cheeks. He spluttered for a good five seconds before he coughed out a “No!”

Keith could have pointed out that “no” didn’t exactly answer his question, but didn’t press any further. “Hey, Lance?”

“Yeah, Mullet?”

“Thanks.” Keith paused for a second. Did he have to say anything else? He wasn’t exactly used to regularly thanking others. “Er, for the spa day, I mean. It was nicer than I thought it would be.”

“Don’t mention it—ever.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Keith flashed a rare smile at the Blue Paladin. “Okay, grab your bayard. We’ve got a Gladiator to defeat.”

Lance’s heart nearly skipped a beat. _It’s only because I opened up to Keith_ , he firmly reminded himself. _That’s all. A bonding moment. Nothing more._ “Only if we shower afterwards.”

The sound of the summoned Gladiator’s staff hitting Keith’s bayard muffled Lance’s comment. “What was that?” Keith shouted. “Kinda busy right now!”

“I said, only if you shower afterwards!” Lance hollered back before joining the fray. _A long, **cold** shower._


End file.
